


Down Came the Rain and Washed the Spider Out

by TheOceanIsMyInkwell



Series: A Little Unsteady [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Arachnophobia, Bruce Banner Is a Good Bro, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Fluff without Plot, Humor, I can't help it, Jealous Tony Stark, Precious Peter Parker, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, be prepared because there will be unremitting ANGST again after this installment, honestly this has no plot, i am the god of angst, there's also LOTS of ice cream in this fic, there's just a teensy weensy bit of angst like two thirds in, y'all deserve this tho after i put you through hell with this series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-13 19:11:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15371403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheOceanIsMyInkwell/pseuds/TheOceanIsMyInkwell
Summary: Tony lolls his head back with as much drama as Peter. “You’re seventeen years old. Why are you soresponsibleabout ice cream flavors?”“Wow. Is Tony Stark promoting irresponsibility?” Peter squints at him as he downs another spoonful.“Don’t sound so shocked, Spiderling. I’m sure Rhodey has already regaled you with tales of the forty-seven different ways Tony Stark can collapse drunk down the stairs. Or was it forty-three? I know my record of collapsing was around thirty percent of all parties attended and fifty percent of attempts to impress a potential partner. In fact, when I was just a little older than--”“Ew. Please just stop talking, Mr. Stark. I do not need to be traumatized today by your escapades.”“That’s not fair. You listen well enough in sex ed to get an A in the class.”“I listen when it’seducational.”---Being part spider doesn’t mean you lose your fear of spiders. Tony learns this the hard way when he hears Peter shrieking his head off in the lab and dashes in, thinking his mentee is probably getting torn from limb to limb.





	Down Came the Rain and Washed the Spider Out

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: 'Sup, y'all. I guess this plotless piece of tooth-rotting fluff trash is my way of apologizing for all the relentless angst I put you through for the last two installments in this series. You guys needed a break before buckling in for the next couple of fics, because I promise you, shiz will get _heavy_ after this.
> 
> I mentioned before that the installments are in non-chronological order, so this particular oneshot takes place much later in the universe timeline. It's the second to the last oneshot, really, in my line-up of planned fics. Peter is seventeen (he's a junior in high school) and the school year is almost over. That's the main explanation for why he's so shameless around Tony now.
> 
> Once again, please bear in mind that Infinity War never happens in this universe. That's just. Way too much pain for my boys to deal with right now.
> 
> Enjoy!!

“I was planning on having a nice, big scoop of Ben & Jerry’s Mint Chocolate Cookie ice cream after a long ass day of, oh, seven meetings that Pepper forced me to sit still through, but I guess that plan’s out the window now, isn’t it?”

The size of Peter’s round, wide eyes at that moment is nearly as comical as the guilt that washes over his face as he gulps said scoop of ice cream and promptly starts to cough.

From the doorway, Tony feigns disdain. “I’m not giving you the Heimlich maneuver. You brought this on yourself.”

On cue, Peter flails an arm dramatically against the back of the couch. “Mr. Stark,” he rasps out. “I’m _dying_.”

“Yeah, you should be. Of shame and guilt.” Tony crosses the living room and leans across the top of the couch, an actual look of concern flickering across his face until he notes that the kid has stopped coughing. Tony glances down at the now near-empty half gallon wedged between Peter’s curled-up legs. “Damn, who broke your heart?”

“Calculus,” Peter huffs, stabbing his spoon back into the remaining mound of ice cream. “You don’t even _like_ Mint Chocolate Cookie. You like boring flavors like Cherry Garcia and Pecan Sticky Buns and Brewed to Matter.”

Tony rolls his eyes, sidestepping the rather alarming fact that the kid has realized he always makes sure to stock the freezer with Peter’s favorite flavor for when it’s lab day. “I can be fun. Sometimes I eat Chunky Monkey.”

Peter mimes a shudder. “My point exactly, Mr. Stark.”

“Hey. No knocking Chunky Monkey. Who even _likes_ Mint Chocolate Cookie? Your great-grandma?” Tony slides over the top of the couch to plop into the seat next to the kid. 

“I do. It’s fun and practical. You get to eat a whole tub of ice cream and still feel like you brushed your teeth afterwards.”

Tony lolls his head back with as much drama as Peter. “You’re seventeen years old. Why are you so _responsible_ about ice cream flavors?”

“Wow. Is Tony Stark promoting irresponsibility?” Peter squints at him as he downs another spoonful.

“Don’t sound so shocked, Spiderling. I’m sure Rhodey has already regaled you with tales of the forty-seven different ways Tony Stark can collapse drunk down the stairs. Or was it forty-three? I know my record of collapsing was around thirty percent of all parties attended and fifty percent of attempts to impress a potential partner. In fact, when I was just a little older than--”

“Ew. Please just stop talking, Mr. Stark. I do not need to be traumatized today by your escapades.”

“That’s not fair. You listen well enough in sex ed to get an A in the class.”

“I listen when it’s _educational_.” Peter gives a particularly vicious bite to his new scoop of ice cream, his teeth clacking against the spoon.

“You won’t believe how glad I am that somebody’s finally telling Tony how it is,” comes a new voice from the doorway. “About time he realizes not everyone thinks the sound of his voice is as beautiful as the Philharmonic Orchestra.”

Tony twists around on the couch to wave over the newcomer, around the same time that the kid starts to audibly choke somewhere behind him. “Banner! I thought you weren’t coming up till seven.”

Bruce takes a few hesitant steps into the living room, slipping off his reading glasses and turning them nervously in his hands. With the ear of his spectacles he gestures vaguely at Peter, still wheezing on the couch. “Is he--um. Shouldn’t we be concerned?”

Tony snorts and brings his hand down in a somewhat hard slap on Peter’s knee. Peter’s holding his breath now, his face turning crimson.

“Breathe, son,” says Bruce. He crosses the remaining space to the rear of the couch, hands hovering near the kid. “Gosh, you’re changing shade faster than I ever could.”

Miraculously, the joke seems to loosen up Peter a little, and it only takes a few more seconds of uneasiness before he releases a shuddering breath and the color leeches back out of his face. Then the next thing Tony knows, the kid has dropped the spoon and positively _vaulted_ over the back of the couch with a saucer-eyed grin on his face. 

“Dr. Hulk--Mr. Banner--Bruce--sir!” he squeaks. “It’s such an-- _ow! Mierda_!” 

“Language,” Tony drawls.

Apparently Peter’s just stepped on and nearly slipped on the spoon he dropped, catapulting it instead toward his own face and getting smacked in the nose. Parker luck. Tony has almost half a mind to ask FRIDAY to save the security footage, but a part of him knows she already has. She certainly is adapting more and more to her creator’s personality by the day.

“Is he--is he okay?” Bruce swivels back to Peter. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah---yeah--I’m good--”

Tony is still chuckling. “This kid. Swears in Spanish and thinks I won’t catch on to him.”

Peter pointedly ignores him. He sticks out his hand for Bruce to shake. “It’s such an honor to meet you, sir. Truly. I’m Parker, by the way. Peter. Parker Peter. I mean! Peter Man! Peter Parker! Oh, shoot.”

“You’ve got a strong grip,” Bruce observes with a soft smile. “And a way with words. Get that from Tony?”

For the briefest of seconds, Peter loses his air of slack-jawed awe at the mention of his mentor. He gives a half-hearted eye-roll. “Oh, he wishes, sir.”

“Bruce is fine.”

“Okay, Dr. Banner.”

Bruce looks at Tony helplessly, who is about to interject when Peter pipes up again: “I wish we learned more about you in school, Dr. Banner. They started teaching your stuff--it was like an experimental curriculum and my teacher in sophomore year was really into your research, which, I mean, like, I don’t blame her--but then she had to leave in the middle of November so we got a replacement and he definitely wasn’t as informed as she was, so then we were forced to drop the curriculum in the middle of the school year and that _sucked_. Even my best friend Ned, who isn’t even all that into your topics, he thought you were cool. I have, like, three of your papers from 2013 and ’14 printed in hard copies in my desk back home and I’ve actually got _so many questions_ about the gamma--”

“Hey. Hey, hey, hey, kid,” Tony interrupts. The crease in his brow is belied by the twitch at the corner of his mouth. “No need to go full-out hero worship now. I mean, sure, we’re both geniuses, but we’re also regular guys.”

Peter casts him an impatient look coupled with a lift of his eyebrow. “I know _you_ are.”

A loud cough that closely resembles a bark of laughter escapes Bruce. He eyes Tony sheepishly, a fist over his mouth.

Tony squints at both of them. “Okay. I see how it is. You two can have some fun geeking out together in my lab. In my tower. I’ll just...go and do something more useful. Elsewhere. In another room. Far away. Not here.” He punctuates his last few words with a peace sign, slips his rose-tinted shades from the top of his head back down his face, and sweeps out of the room.

“Oh. Oh, man. I hope I didn’t contribute too much to that…outburst…”

Peter offers a high-pitched laugh as he bends down to scoop up the spoon from the floor. He stays crouched there for a few more seconds, scrubbing at the faintly mint-colored stain in the carpet. “Don’t worry about it, Dr. Banner. He knows I know he’s just throwing a fake tantrum. Honestly, I think he just went off somewhere to watch FRIDAY’s footage of me embarrassing myself further in front of you.”

“... _Damn straight I am_ ,” Tony’s holler wafts in from far down the hallway.

Bruce finally gives in to a chuckle. He massages his face for a moment and then slips his glasses back on and fiddles with the rolled-up cuffs of his button-down. “To be fair, this has to be a rare kind of moment for Tony to witness. I don’t think I’ve received this kind of celebrity reception since--well, ever.”

“Are you kidding me?” Okay, Bruce thinks, either this kid is seriously underaged, or his level of nerd excitement has completely reversed the effects of puberty. “Dr. Banner, you’re like--you’re like a god in your field. A pioneer. Well, I mean, obviously you are a pioneer, because nobody else has dealt with the science that turned you into the Hulk in the first place--sorry. That must be a sensitive topic. Is that a sensitive topic? This is--this is--wow. Babbling. I’m an idiot. I meant to ask you questions. Shutting up now. Be quiet. Yup.”

Bruce takes one look at Peter’s wide brown eyes and feels his chest twinge with sympathy. “You don’t seem this shell-shocked around Tony anymore. How long have you been interning for him?”

If at all possible, Peter’s eyes widen even further. “How did--he told you about me?”

“Well, he warned me that I might find a ‘very bright and smart-mouthed kid’ wandering around the tower if I got here before him. That was kind of all he was able to say before Pepper drew him away for another meeting, I think, and then the call ended. I filled in the rest.”

The kid nods. “I started working for Mr. Stark about, uh, two years ago. Almost two and half. I met him when I was fifteen.”

Bruce’s eyebrows shoot toward his hairline. The boy bites his lip and scuffs the toe of one of his hightops against the back of the other, seemingly without realizing it. 

“Mr. Stark said you just got back to New York, like, one and a half days ago,” Peter babbles on in an effort to rapidly move on from Bruce’s amazement. “So. That must be some kind of adjustment, huh? After two years in...uh...space?”

Ah. So it seems that in the span of the last day or so, Tony has already filled in the kid on Bruce’s return. The gears in his brain whir as he runs through possible scenarios in his head: biological son? A seriously impressive protégé who has earned daily chatting rights with Tony Stark? Or something entirely different that affords him access to news about the Avengers’ comings and goings?

“I don’t remember any of it,” Bruce answers with an honest shrug. “Except the last couple of hours on two separate planets, helping Thor...fight...certain evil, biologically related beings. And making our grand escape on a spaceship the size of a strip mall, basically.”

Peter looks far too impressed for Bruce’s comfort. Someone seriously needs to teach this kid the value of a poker face.

Bruce quickly amends, “It wasn’t that cool. We made off from the other planet with a totally useless spaceship that shot fireworks instead of guns. And we had to take a highway that was called an anus.”

“No,” Peter breathes. “That sounds _super_ cool.”

As if on cue, Tony reappears in the doorway of the living room and beelines for the forgotten tub of mint ice cream on the couch. “Someone’s ice cream is not gonna be cool for much longer,” he gripes. Hugging the tub to his chest, he gestures at Peter with a triumphant fist as he backs out of the room. “I’m taking this now. It’s mine now. Always was. I bought this. This is payback, kid. This is what happens when you steal old men’s things.”

Peter just barely restrains himself from retorting, _I thought you liked it when I stole Cap’s shield_ , and instead opts for a cheeky “Told you you were old! I thought only great-grandmas like mint!”

“And _you_!” Tony scoffs, making his second exit of the day and disappearing again past the view of the glass-paneled walls.

“He’s literally eating that just to spite me,” Peter says casually to Bruce.

“Okay,” the man says slowly. The whole ice cream dynamic, of all things, is still confusing to him. “So, you said you have questions for me? I would hate to bore you, but I haven’t been around a lab in two years and there are a couple things I could probably show you that are related to whatever you wanted to ask me.” Yes. Science. Science is good. Science, Bruce understands.

“Oh my God, I’m gonna get to see your lab? Like, your personal lab? The one that Mr. Stark always keeps on lockdown and--ohmygodthisisthegreatestdayofmylife.”

\--

The kid is right. Tony is completely eating the last chunk of mint ice cream out of spite.

He doesn’t even remotely like the flavor. Still, he consoles himself with the notion that there are chocolate cookie tidbits left in the little mound at the bottom of the tub, and the fact that it provides him with a cold, sweet-toothed distraction from the pangs of jealousy in his chest. Sure, watching FRIDAY’s footage of Peter thwacking himself in the face with a spoon in front of Bruce was satisfying for the first twelve or so loops, but now he’s just sulking, spoon wedged between his teeth and chin dropped toward his chest as he stares ahead at the hologram with his arms folded over. 

Peter, stuttering and mixing up his words like only Peter Parker can. There was a time he did the same thing around Tony. Tony always pretended to be annoyed by the kid’s spoonerism, but truth be told, he never could be irritated by the boy’s adorable show of awe. Alarmed, yes. Maybe a bit frightened: because the kid would soon come to realize just how much of a letdown Tony really is, and how unfit he is to be on the receiving end of any kind of hero worship. But mostly--though Tony would rather be dragged five hundred feet on hot asphalt then admit it aloud--he just finds Peter’s nerdy stammering cute. Innocent. And damn it, he misses it.

He begins to wonder just when Peter lost the stutter around him. Of course, there were the nervous tics--mixing up his words when he talked to his mentor about the sleepless nights or the childhood baggage or the panic attacks--but the giddy stutter? The speechlessness born of his inborn ability to nerd himself out? Tony shakes his head. He can’t quite remember.

Or perhaps he does. 

Steve was the first Avenger apart from Tony whom Peter met off the battlefield. He definitely hadn’t stuttered then. Tony likes to think he knows why.

Come to think of it, the whole… _Steve Rogers and the Bully Fiasco_ \--as Tony gingerly terms it--was the first incident where Tony doesn’t recall the kid stuttering around his mentor. It must have happened after the screaming match. Tony clears his throat and sniffs. Straightens in his chair, sets the spoon inside the tub. He supposes that going head to head for the first time with one’s mentor certainly was bound to reveal painfully raw and human traits. There’s no going back from a realization like that, even for a naive sixteen-year-old idealist.

Tony’s rapidly spiraling train of thought is shattered just then by a bone-piercing scream.

Peter’s scream.

Tony is lunging from his chair and pounding down the hallway faster than FRIDAY can begin to drone out an alert. “Peter?! Peter! Where are you-- _Peter!_ ”

The man careens around a corner and grapples at the edge of the open doorway to catch himself before he topples over. The lights in Bruce’s lab are bright. He blinks, disoriented for a minute. It’s been two years since this space has seen any sort of light or human attention.

And then his eyes rove over his surroundings to take in the rest of the scene, and he stumbles back half a step.

The kid is--for sheer lack of a better term--wrapped around Bruce’s torso, hands clawing at the scientist’s rumpled button-down and feet crossed in a complete koala hug. A pencil is still wedged between Peter’s teeth and his hair is standing on end, just as wild as the terror in his eyes.

The kid’s appearance alone seems to confirm all of Tony’s worst fears, and he’s fully prepared to come barreling in to confront the intruder and demand to know what the threat is, but what stops him is Bruce’s demeanor.

The other man is completely relaxed. His glasses are a bit askew from the kid’s obvious manhandling of him, but the rest of him is utterly composed. His hands are still occupied with a StarkPad projecting some half-finished schematic of a data set, and his stance is loose, feet planted apart. His facial expression reads nothing short of nonplussed and amused.

Before Tony can come up with a few choice expletives to describe the situation, Peter shrieks: “It’s over there, Mr. Stark. It’s coming after me. I swear. Oh my God--I’m gonna die--”

“ _What’s_ over there?” Tony lets out a long-suffering sigh and indulges the kid by sauntering in and glancing over in the direction the boy is pointing.

He sees nothing. Just a work table cluttered with a few sheafs of paper torn out of notebooks, and a bunch of pencils and StarkPad pens.

“It’s a spider,” Bruce fills in for him, obviously concealing the humor in his voice.

To his credit, Tony manages to hold on to his straight face for about fifteen more seconds. “Yes, but _where_?”

Peter points again. “It’s a _jumping_ spider.”

“I don’t understand,” Bruce deadpans. “I thought you’re kin with that type.”

Tony busies himself with rolling up a wad of scrap paper and nudging it toward the miniscule offender so that it hops in and he can release it through the nearest window.

“They’re tiny and hyper and they’ve got _so many damn legs_ ,” Peter protests in a breathless rush.

Tony turns around with a shit-eating grin. “Yeah, kid. That’s kind of why they’re called spiders.”

“It was gonna bite me, Mr. Stark.”

“Statistically, that would have been highly improbable,” Bruce interjects.

Peter’s voice escalates a couple more octaves. “I’m not exactly known for being statistically average.”

It takes all of two seconds of pregnant silence before Tony doubles over with laughter--the rumbling, tear-jerking, knee-slapping kind of laughter. He hasn’t felt like he was dying of this much mirth in forever.

Bruce shakes his head minutely at Tony, who misses the gesture. “I know,” Bruce replies soothingly. “You’re absolutely right, if the natural superglue on your hands is anything to go by.”

“Oh...oh, shit.”

Peter immediately peels himself off the man’s torso.

“Spider’s out of the bag,” Tony cackles. Peter shoots him a look, and at the very least his mentor has the decency to look slightly chastised. “Sorry, kiddo. I know this isn’t how you planned the big reveal.”

“There was no big reveal to be planned at all,” Peter huffs. Then he groans. “This day just had to take a nosedive. Parker luck.”

“In your defense, I knew you were Spider-Man even before we set foot in the lab,” says Bruce.

Peter whirls. “ _What_.”

Tony takes the opportunity to burst out in peals of laughter yet again.

“Mr. Stark, _shut up_.”

“Not--happening--kid,” he wheezes out.

Bruce slips off his glasses and slides them into the pocket of his shirt with a sigh, as if he is about to enter into a long overdue lecture on molecular structures. “As soon as you asked me how my time in space was, it all kind of clicked. You’re obviously close enough to Tony to know news about the Avengers hot off the Stark press. And then the timing...I disappeared God knows where a little over two years ago...and almost immediately after that you met Tony. What other major events lined up with the time frame? Berlin, of course.” Bruce shoots Tony a look over the kid’s head with a wince. “Sorry, Tony.”

The other man responds with a dismissive hand wave. “It’s all right. I’m not going to make you my therapist again. Not today.”

Peter has been silent this whole time, his mouth locked into an ‘O’ as he glances back and forth between Tony and Bruce. 

Tony clears his throat. “Also in your defense, kid...it seems like if I hadn’t given Bruce the rundown on the whole, er, Berlin situation, he wouldn’t have figured it out.”

“No,” Bruce says dryly, “I would’ve just gone with the second most obvious explanation instead.”

“Secret illegitimate son?”

“Actually, intern who’s unlocked the secret paternal instincts of Tony Stark through the power of his sciencing and baby brown eyes.”

“I--I think I resent that,” Peter says faintly.

“Me too,” Tony rejoins. He comes closer to slap an arm across Peter’s shoulder. “I do not have secret paternal instincts.”

Bruce’s gaze flits from Tony’s face to his hand on the boy’s shoulder, then back up to Tony.

Peter’s voice is still weak in its protest. “I was referring to the baby brown eyes.”

“Oh. Oh! What, you don’t think you’ve got baby browns? Your Aunt May would have a _lot_ to say about that, Underoos. Remember that one picture where you fell from the wrong side of the slide and she said she managed to capture it before you started--”

“Mr. _Stark_. Can we--can we just--go back to discussing my crippling arachnophobia? That’s, like, ten times less embarrassing.”

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: ...This was complete and utter trash and I'm living for it.
> 
> By the way, the "Steve and the Bully Fiasco" which is mentioned during Tony's internal monologue refers to the fic that is coming directly after this. It's an angsty one featuring Cap's return a year after the events of Civil War. There will also be...hm...Tony and Peter's first real fight ever. oKaY that's enough spoilers for now!
> 
> As always, if you leave a comment telling me what you genuinely thought of this it will put a silly grin on my face for a whole ass 48 hours! No kidding. And do you have arachnophobia? I personally have a deathly arachnophobia. I feel you, Pete, I feel you.
> 
> Thanks for reading, my lovelies! <3
> 
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